I went to war without proper ammunition.

It's traumatizing.

Before going on, however, I would like to put out the fact that no real weapons were used today. Except for knives.

Basically, I experienced a real kitchen rush, as in I was busy for a good hour and a half running back and forth, not having time to recover because tickets kept coming in, coming in, and coming in. Seriously uncanny.

I really do like that feeling of busy-ness, except when I run out of supplies.

This is where the metaphor comes in.

Running out of ammunition sucks, especially when ticket after ticket comes. You basically stop dead on your tracks, get more stuff, prep them then keep going. It holds up tickets, and soon enough people are yelling at my name because I'm either incompetent with speed, or I'm not paying attention at all.

Hm, weird. I just ran out of words.

99th Percentile

It's good to feel fatigue, as it has an ironic placebo effect that puts me into mental stability. It practically makes me feel heartless, as I feel no emotion whatsoever, but I can keep up with a decent and civil conversation.

If I'm keeping track (which I am), I've only told two girls that I like then way past a platonic relationship. One four years ago, and one today.

The difference between the two besides the obvious matter of time is the manner of how I did it. And I'm telling this in a long-story-short manner.

Freshman year in High School, I was too straightforward spending my five bucks on heart box shaped chocolates and a card, only to be told "Uh, no", to be followed with an "I only like you as a friend". As for the aftermath of this fiasco, I didn't talk to this person after two years, but we're friends now. Or so, I would like to think.

Compared to today, I told this person that I liked them through facebook chat.

Yes, I know a lot of people would be major raging right now, and might have these thoughts:

1. DOOD!
2. WHAT THE FUCK!
3. Pussy.
4. Insert your own thought here.

Thus, the fatigue-iron-man-causing effect.

While the conversation itself had the same ending of "I only like you as a friend", it went more casually, I handled it more maturely stating that this can't fly, nor this can happen, and all the blah blah that follows it. (Yes, I said blah blah)

After that conversation, I feel like I can sleep better and maybe work more efficiently tomorrow (I seriously hope I don't wake up all alert, then the thought reappears in my head and starts bugging me).

While I would like to analyze all my flaws, I really don't want to do it, but I would like to point out a couple of things.

1. A friend told me that some people don't mind being told that they are liked beyond a friendship online. I told her that the percentage of said "some" people are the 99th percentile of the women in this world, if not this country. Let me just say that this was flaw number one, and I really don't think that the result would be any different if I did it another way around.

2. It feels freakin' good to be rejected while being tired. Not saying I'm going to it often in the same manner, but it kind of gives me something to laugh about. I know, classic ass move, but life's not really fair. So, if life doesn't want to be fair and wants to laugh at me, I kind of have a right to make an ass out of it too, in some way.

3. This reminds me to read Tucker Max and buy his book, but there are only three players to hit the 700 homerun mark in all of baseball, and they did so because they took their chances and never held back. One might have an asterisk, but seriously. I don't think you could do the same thing to another person and have them hit the same number. But that's a whole different discussion.

Anyways, off to sleep and I don't know how to celebrate my freedom. Probably more tasks, because I'm meant to be kept busy anyway.

Funny how I complain on how I lack sleep, and every minute is an opportunity passing by, but I'm just wasting it.

Nonetheless, I am officially done with El Camino, and if I did my calculations right, I should be getting a 93. Maybe. It's not a real calculation, but it's one of those where I assume that my grade is crap (which it is, I didn't even know half the material - yikes), but I'm pretty sure that I put myself in a position where I could still get the grade that I want, despite the circumstances.

As for my major thought today, My boss told me to work this Sunday, but I wasn't put on the schedule for that day, and it definitely puts a thought in my head.

Something tells me to go with the flow and not even ask my boss about it, but on the other hand, he asked me up front if I could work on Sunday. It's like, what?

I'm a nonconfrontational person. I like to do business when I'm the person who's above them, and not the other way around. I'd rather be feared than fear. Blah. It feels awkward to ask for things, since well... it's not my parents and I won't really get fired from my family if I asked for a day off or two...

But yes, I'm pretty stoked about the weeks that are coming up, and I think it's time to actually put some thoughts in action. Shit, I need to make a prep list again.

I am typing this with my eyes sinking faster than the Titanic, and my fingers faster than the fast one in The Incredibles. Gotta love hyperbole.

A good chunk of my thoughts came from working today, and probably a few, however just as equivalent as those of earlier came from tonight while finishing problem sets for math.

1. It's always hard to forget that people have given us chances at life. An admission is a chance. We get chances to these institutions of education because people have faith in our abilities. Sure, while we claim to be very experienced with however many years (knowing most of the people I know, I'll give it a window of 16-20 years) of experience under our belts, We're basically guinea pigs of society where our beliefs and reactions to certain situations are tested. It is there that the "men are separated from the boys", and such.

I came up with this thought because I, for some reason am having some weird ego trip in the kitchen. People try and kind of humble me, and I just want certain things to happen right. I really don't want to screw up, because this is probably the best opportunity that I have in my first twenty years of living. Sometimes, just really, sometimes, I want to tell the food runner to not be an ass about everything because of a flawed system, and I don't want to imply that my coworker that works the grill station to hurry up with the swordfish since the food runner's being an ass.

I personally believe, and I don't care how much people want to contradict it, is that sometimes people have to be an ass to make a point. It really shouldn't piss me off if there's a technical error in my salad (I.E Spinach way out of proportion with other pieces in size), but for some reason it just does and it kind of makes me feel awkward with my boss who's at this point has had it at probably my height in terms of patience, if not two inches away from blowing up and firing me.

Back to what I'm trying to say in the beginning though. The positive way of seeing this is that there are always second or third chances in life. I hate to admit it, but none of us are perfect. Not even the rich, nor the powerful are perfect. These chances are given to us because again, they believe in our ability to not make the same mistake repeatedly (and if not, for a long time).


2. I think I'm devoid of the emotion of love.

I don't know whether it's a short fuse, or whatever happened in my life, but for some reason, I really don't appreciate my family. I'm simply saying that I'm a selfish ingrate.

Maybe it's because I'm so materialistic, and I've felt like all those years, they've shortchanged me in some way or the other (my argument here is very specious) that now I'm getting opportunities left and right and carrying my own weight, I feel kind of invincible and impeccable where dependency on a family unit is no longer necessary.

Maybe it's because I've been pushed to stuff that they force me to do that doesn't relate me. My mom keeps forcing me to go to church when I don't want to. It's a waste of my time, and I could waste it by doing something that I actually like doing.

I don't know, I really haven't come around on the appreciating them stage part because they have either done little or no effect on my life at all. It's as if asking the question "What have you done for me, and what's the reason why I should even give you the time of day?"

Even if they have done something for my life, I, in the words of Russell Peters, "Take it, and go". And come back for more if I ever ran out of blessings (for the lack of a better word). Yet, they have the capacity to forgive even though I did these kind of things.

As for serious consideration, I'm seriously admitting that I'm lacking, if not entirely missing the capacity to love. I admit that it was hard typing the word itself (see, capacity to forgive), and I can't even say the word seriously because it's basically an empty bottle that comes out of my chute of a crappy to decent vocabulary.

It's as if this country changed me as a whole. I've cried at least a total of less than my toes and fingers combined in eight years that I've been here, for the same reasons that I'm doing now: Trying to make sense out of my thoughts and releasing them to the people around me.

If the first step is admitting it, then I have to find out what the other six is.

But I'm too tired, too lazy. I have crappy knees, bad health and a shitty demeanor.

Maybe sleep can change all that.

It feels so weird that this phase is about to end.

I just got my grade for a pass/fail class, and I passed with an A.

Yay.

As for my math class, my professor decided to make our test an open book test along with a notecard for formulas, which I still need to do (and yes, if you read my first blog, that now makes me a hypocrite, and if you read my third it just confirms my commitment problem).

I also need to download Brown Eyed Girl, just because it was so catchy, and I don't think I've ever had an educator sing before. For people who went to Westchester, Mernin partially counts, but my professor can actually sing.

Win.

With all of this, it makes me ecstatic to go to work tomorrow. It's at least 12 days before christmas... and I think that's song's gonna be in my head too. Crud.

Commitment Problems

While I have it in me...

I just posted that some blogs put me to shame because of their longtime commitment to it. I've been blogging for a long time myself, but my commitment is separated into three (or eight, but five have been totally abandoned and totally blank) blogs, with maybe just as much content without the quality of the one blog that I'm talking about.

It takes some serious commitment for monogamy. A lot of us are guilty for lacking that quality, and Tiger Woods is the recent victim to join the club.

Rimshot. Okay, I'm done with the whole Tiger Woods ordeal.

But seriously, separating my commitment to three blogs is whack.

To tell you the truth, dear reader, I've already have visions for three restaurants: One being fine dining, one for a Tapas Bar, and one for a more casual flair of dining.

But I'm not going to share that, because like an unfunded scientist, I only have my thesis but not the experiment itself.

Seriously though, if I'm having a commitment problem with my blogs and restaurant planning or decision making in general, how am I going to fare with a girlfriend?

Oh well, there's always the old mantra to take it "one step at a time"

Speaking of new reading material...

I love it when I get it. As of now, I'm stacking it up before my cookbooks arrive from overstock (like dear God, it feels so good to be paid. All these cookbooks, and dough to do all my experimenting and gaining experience. I think I just witnessed a culinary boner. Dude!)

So far, I'm re-reading Youth and Revolt. I read it my sophomore year, and all I knew before are is the main character who possesses a penis that has a mind of it's own. Either that, or his penis is actually his brain.

I'm also interested in reading the Olympians series. My brother has them on disc sets. He's done with all three. With Top Chef and Glee gone temporarily, and with Greek coming in January, I really have nothing to do, except my routine stuff.

But yay for new reading material. And I'm glad Google Chrome can undo my flakiness.

My friend Patrick would be proud, as for some odd reason he likes the word "balls".

And yes, I'm back to square one. I'm starting an all new blog because I'm very lazy at trying to switch out between ten accounts for blogs, and seeing three ideas for blogs trashed and not yet deleted by the Google people after several days (they said ninety, but I'm not really keeping track.)

There is a saying that goes around that "Great novels are written by those who aren't afraid".

True, but there's a lot of theories that can go against that, but it's what a natural pessimist would do.

Enter, myself. (I'm partially a pessimist. Only if I could get rid of it.)

It sucks writing the same material over and over again, from notes to self or using a blog as an outlet for me because I'm pissed.

I really don't know. I only go to five sites in the internet, seven if you count porn, ten if I'm bored and the number will probably remain stagnant unless I go to twitter and find a link about failblog or something, who knows.

I really have no specific goals or gimmicks for this blog. It's straight up "balls" in every sense of the word itself. If a ball is tossed at you, you either you get it or you don't. If it hits you, it either hurts you or it doesn't. Some people are really interested in balls whether you're straight as a sports fanatic who happens to like a plethora of balls or you're gay for liking what's below a guy.

The truth is that life is a "ball" game, and while you have your own metaphor for it, this one's mine.

I'm actually done with my cold, and I'm digging the new services from google: Chrome, and Wave.

Google Chrome, for a lack of a better comparison, gives it a shaved feeling down there.  My internet browser is so much bigger without any of the extra stuff (the taskbar) impeding my view.

As for wave, I finally got to know what it is because I was invited.  Yay interns.

Speaking of which, I often give myself reminders to not visit the CIA page on facebook until I got my legit start date.  It's because I don't want to jinx myself or anything.  (I'm superstitious - Stevie Wonder, anyone?)

I am not Michael Jordan.

I've been under the impression that I'm living the day Michael Jordan scored sixty on the Utah Jazz to claim one of his many titles as a Chicago Bull.

I would proudly like to say that I am, considering that my week has been MJ-like prior to being sick.

Well, kind of.

For those who don't know, I'm a Garde-Manger at Manhattan Country Club.  Away from the kitchen, the heat.  I'm not dissing it, it's just reality.  But I'm telling you that fact to tell you this next one.

Being away from heat, I open packages near my prep area, or inside the fridge: particularly bread with those zip-top twisty things and whatnot.  Also, I get to serve club sandwiches with toothpicks attached to them, and the ingredients that I use are straight out of cans, etc.

I am going to admit right now that I have served salads with foreign objects on it.  Ziptops and olive pits, and toothpicks.  I'm very fortunate that the runner has got them off before serving them, and I'm very fortunate that my boss has a huge patience for my seemingly dumb ass.

Again, I'm putting my mise-en-place of facts as everything adds up later....

Today, I came in to work, fresh out of the misery that is sickness.

Everything was going well, I made sure everything was in check, everything in my station labeled, extras prepared just in case I run out of stuff.

Life goes on until a rubber band is found on a salad.

I take responsibility for it, since it's my station, and I really am not the type of person or asshole that throws people under the bus.  Know that fact, and you can use it to your advantage one of these days.

To be very honest, I was pissed for a good half hour because I knew that if I prep my stuff these days, nothing would be in it.  I'm not saying I never made mistakes before, because as mentioned above (and yes, I'll probably get canned for it - crossing my fingers) I've made these mistakes in the kitchen, and I've never made the same mistake twice (definitely a lie for most situations). 

Like Kevin, I'm just upset for being upset because this is just a lapse (another partial lie - club might get sued because of this), but it drives me nuts to be skeptical of my own ability.  I hate that.

Again, I'll just let this go and learn from it.  It's the only sensible thing to do.

Love like... Toothpaste?

I remember watching Bruce Almighty and seeing the scene where Jim Carrey's character said to Jennifer Aniston's character:

Love me, love me.

She didn't.

If anyone has actually seen this movie, you get it.  If you don't let me toss you a spoiler:  Carrey's character is given all the power in the world, except the power to make someone love you.  After all, there are some skeptics of religion out there.

Love is like a toothpaste tube:  even though you squeeze everything out of it, there's always that ounce that's stuck around the corner that you can't get to.  And even if you did, what kind of drastic measure would you do to get it?

Analogy aside, I can't get all the toothpaste in the damn tube.  Even if I did cut the tube in half to scrape the rest off, there would still be toothpaste stuck on that tube.  You can't get all of it, even if you want to.

Point is that, there's a lot of toothpaste out there, and if you're only focusing on that one ounce of toothpaste that you're trying to get, then you're missing out.

Limit Break

There is an expression called "Running out of luck".

I feel like I've been having too much luck lately, and mine's about to run out.  Again, who knows?

It seems like that everytime something good happens to me, I have to think about what's next.  It's as if a road ended and I have to start another one.  But I really don't want to put it that way.

Or maybe I'm just tired.

If anything, I'll just remember the advice that I gave to Aubrey earlier:  Do everything I'm supposed to do and everything would fall perfectly.

Placebo Effect

I could not be happier for myself this thanksgiving weekend as I actually had three parties that I planned on going to.

Now, that's college life.  Partially kidding.

While it's very superficial to say that college life is all about parties, and not academics (see, Van Wilder), It's very false.  If you don't go to school, you fail, and if you fail, then you are expelled or out from the campus.  So basically, I'd give it a 60:40 ratio, Academics-Party.  That's if you do care.  And if you have a greater Academics-Party Ratio, then more power to you.

While the common theme in parties is fun, there is another common theme that exists in these places that could either be very lucid to the naked eye, or the opposite if you're too oblivious to see if you're having too much fun:

Shyness.

Yup.  Shyness is a detriment to any social event, especially if you don't know the people there, or only know one or two of them.  I would be lying, and not headed for life success if I didn't say that I was a shy person, because I am.  Again, why do you think I've never been in a relationship in my life after 19 years of living?

But this one's different.  It's so different that you could actually differentiate it when you're given two samples of it, kind of like blue.  There's navy blue, there's baby blue.  It's easy to spot.

The navy blue kind of shyness is social, as in you're shy in meeting new people because you don't share the same interests as them.  People should have different personalities, because as much as I love myself, I wouldn't want a billion of myself around.  One, it's too boring, two, the world would be grumpy, and three it's definitely a gay population (because it's all males).

The baby blue kind of shyness is more of a puppy love one.  For instance, you're crushing on someone, you want to tell them, sing them the corniest song that comes first to your mind, but you can't because...

1. No balls to do it
2. A ton of excuses to provide
(Thanks to Hassan Abdulla for this list)

The solution to this is basically the term "taking the plunge" - As in, just doing it without having a care in the world and having fun.  I don't know, be like a drunk Tucker Max - all happy and stuff, just don't drink off his CamelBak, or else.

I personally believe that this concept of the plunge is much easier to take in a friend-making scenario, because you really have nothing to lose except another person to talk to.  On the other hand, if you do, do (yes doo-doo, name your joke) take the plunge romantically, the possibility of losing a friendship is there,or actually strengthening it, because you actually had the balls to say it -> Eminem rhyme.  (Sue me.) 

A placebo is described as a fake medication.  Researchers use it to see how people react to the medicine.  Sometimes, people get better because they think the medicine did it. 

Shyness is just like a placebo effect, except the opposite.  It is the power of the mind that drives us this way, and sometimes it's the possible negative thoughts of people that drive us this way. 

Basically, let me sum it up with my own version of a Tucker Max quote:

If you don't like me, then... you know the rest.

Decisions, squared.

Before I start, today's math class was ridiculous.  In my Intermediate Algebra class, my professor taught about the 30-60-90 and the 45-45-90 triangles and what radicals belong to them.  He just made it more complicated, and thank God I have my trig notebook lying around somewhere for those pieces of information.

But during that time, I was asking myself as to whether or not I should go to Westchester's Academic Night.  One of my solutions into making this decision was to flip a coin.  Heads, I go and vice versa.  The other one was more of a self reassuring quote, but failed to no avail.  And the third idea, was to get a facebook poll, and by popular vote, I went, and needless to say it was worth my time catching up with my people even though it was only for a couple of minutes.

I decided to do these ridiculous methods of decision making, because I'm really bad at it. Flipping a coin is a fair method of doing it, despite facts learned from statistics class that it isn't really a fifty fifty chance.  There's no bias involved in a coin flip, and I was willing to do what the coin told me to. 

On the other hand, the quote that I wrote in my notebook was "Don't let anyone become a priority if they saw you as an option".  While I believe that I will rarely, if never be a priority to my friends, I'm pretty sure that those words will hurt them because while without sounding narcissistic or egotistical, there's a speck within them that cares about me, and others as well (but they have their own specks.)

In the end, I decided to go and watch, since I went through all the trouble of getting the car for the night, and it would totally be worthless if my efforts went to waste.  I gave everyone my congratulations and a hug, and caught up with my friends, and a couple of my friends' parents and a teacher. 

It was time well spent, and as always, a lesson learned.

Always trust your instincts.

There was once upon a time where I liked playing chess, and I didn't care if I sucked at it.  Not that I did, but I felt like I was adequate at it.

The concept of Chess is to get the king into a checkmate.  To do so, one has to scheme and plan each piece (pieces have a different purpose and move in various ways) so that it can do so.

Irony is, I love predicting the future, but there are so many things that could possibly happen, and while it is true that some of my hunches might be right, the chances of them happening are slim to none, since there might be that other scenario that I just never thought about, which totally changes the game.

For some reason unknown, I always think about the future or the past rather than the present.

A good example for this is that when I talk to most of my friends, I could not help but rehash old memories, because I have nothing else to think or talk about.  It makes me feel like I'm a bad friend because I'm only sticking to the past, and not looking to build up something new.  My basic thought on this is that I hope it doesn't take a jigsaw (referring to Saw, the fourth one?) game where my past has to be burnt, or something.

As for the future, I'm always concerned on the "what would", how could, and anything else that can fall between those lines.  For example, I'm thinking about the possibility of me getting behind at Camp Roberts because Mario forgot about me, or something else in general.

I think that if I had a chance for three wishes, one of them would be removing my habit of thinking too much.

Mash-up

Why is it that people believe in prayer if nothing ever goes right for them? Do people believe that it's their saving grace? I mean, even atheists or other religions do it (and sometimes to the wrong god.)

I always had this faith that everything would fall in place if I did everying right, especially when it counted. As of now, I'm very concerned about my ride to camp roberts for this friday. It seems like a long time coming, but for me it isn't, as time is ticking down and I can only wait until a certain time to wait for my next move.

It's wack.

Speaking of wack, a friend has jokingly (so I hope) speculating on my sexuality, thinking that I'm gay.

What.

I have nothing against gays. In fact, I support the fact that they are just as free as straights. But that's another issue.

While I'm a guy that has a tv schedule half suited for chicks (top model, greek, glee), I'm just the unfortunate victim of social awkwardness and low self esteem, and perhaps trauma. (Ask me about the last part, if you wish)

So really, In quoting young mc, I'm a straight man who doesn't want to hang myself on a celibate rope, nor do I want to become a monk abd leave the situation.

Tuesday tomorrow, and that could only mean a massive prep day for me tomorrow.

Gotta love tuesdays.

Regret and Rebirth

BOB I is coming up, and I just can't help but have this thought of me taking things for granted.

I knew last year was my last with my delegation.  I knew that was it, and after that there was no turning back.  BOB I went by, BOB 2 went by, Sacramento came by, and when it came to the friendship service, I gave two speeches - one I partially rehearsed and wrote so many versions of while chairing sessions, and a second one that came from the heart.

The bad thing is that though it had genuine intentions, none of them felt that way. 

I left the room with no tears in my eyes.  I wasn't crying.  In fact, I was smiling and saying "I'll see you later", "I'll miss you", and all these other things, and I knew it was genuine then, but looking back now, it seems that it wasn't.

I don't know, maybe it's a trail of tears, whether it be from joy or sadness that binds people together, some bind of emotion that links between them... some chain of genuine emotion and passion that I never got to experience because I was too macho to let it out, and a possible belief that I look ugly when I cry.

When I look at Scott's photos now for the lack of a better metaphor, it's like watching porn and I'm trying to hide it from people, and I don't ever want them to find out that I miss the experience, the people, because I was once there, and I'm just simply wondering if they're having the time of their lives their as they should, considering that they're paying a thousand plus dollars for it.

Then, I did the Intern Program on a whim, as it miraculously fit my schedule, and kept me busy.  Selfish as I may sound, I genuinely wanted to do this from the beginning because I knew what was expected, and what was going to happen (very partially.)

If this really is my second family, then I see this as my second chance.  No what-ifs, no regrets. 

It's like senior year all over again.

A commercial hit me square in my thoughts, as it said:

"If you have the passion, why not dream?"

Good things happen when my facebook page is unavailable:  I sleep earlier, I do my homework, and I google search too many things.

One of my google searches today was the Culinary Institute of America.  Yup, it's the most wonderful time of the year.  I sent in my application on Friday and it's about to be processed and I'm pretty stoked.  Because of that, I decided to go to the site and just read up.

Bad Idea.

Reading up on these articles or visiting the site itself drives me nuts.  I know that I earned my keep, I know that I'll get it, but it drives me crazy how far it is before I get there: I start to think about how many more quizzes, days in El Camino I have left, and I'm starting to visualize how I'm going to leave.

I really don't want to look too far ahead, but it excites me.  And because of any excitement or anxiety of sort, I have the propensity to run a controlled chaos in my station:  I get the order, I get some right, and some I purely screw up and throw in the trash.  Totally against my morals, but I have to do what I need to do...

For now, I'll follow Pratt's advice and smell the coffee, take my time and enjoy life as it goes.

I will always remember that day when Mario told me in his own way to "get a life".  Slowly but surely, I'm integrating myself into this new one while keeping some old friendships intact.

I feel like these days, my life has been so routine that it's like my mise-en-place, that I know where I put everything, what to do in case I "get in the weeds".

I don't even know how to describe this feeling.  Maybe, if I had to put it into words or comparison, that I would say that I would be a tennis player who's making a Federer-esque comeback to beat Roddick after five sets (yes, it still drives me crazy and bitter to say that).  I'm hitting my stride to the point that rarely some things frazzle me despite a lack of sleep, I know what I'm doing and I'm confident that I'm doing all the right things.

Funny how I'm writing this blog near midnight with work tomorrow on an early shift after taking my mom to the airport for her mission trip that will last for a week.  Should be interesting tomorrow considering the fact that I've been lacking in sleep, or sleeping late these days that I should sleep super early tomorrow as well on Thursday to compensate for it.

That's what the gym's for.  I'm starting to feel fat, and it's not a good feeling at all.

One of the nicknames that Hassan gave me in high school was starting to finally make sense.

I remember being called "Toast" in high school because I was often wrong when I had a point to say, and apparently my peers are better than me in certain things.

But the context of "toast" with my current state of condition is that I'm tired, I'm burnt, and possibly stale.

I started work at seven thirty and besides a breakfast of a chocolate chip cookie, cheese bread and water, I literally moved from point to point non-stop for four hours (partially lying here, but I was in motion all day long). 

I was so tired at that point that I was still behind on my prep - two or three tasks behind, and I was resorted to eating in a very rapid pace where I prep where I was told to eat at the dining room, and enjoy myself, or so said my boss.

I really couldn't enjoy the meal despite its' appeal to my rumbling stomach.  But really, I just had to rock it out, I suppose.

My continuous movement continued as there were tickets all day long, at least for a good hour and a half.  I'm loving it really, but I hate it when I get tickets wrong especially if I have five more to make after that, and then the ticket machine just keeps cranking out more.  Not my routine, but I ironically like it for some wack reason...

My whole point is ever since I started "applying" to the CIA, I've been reduced to the equivalent of my twitching friend who has over loaded on caffiene where  my hands haven't stopped moving from chopping, slicing and consistently losing on Madden (I swear, the Chiefs have a bad offensive line and quarterback, and I'll figure out their offense one way or the other) along my eyes are twitching back and forth to check my account whether or not El Camino took my money yet or when my mom's three hundred dollars would come through so I could see how fiscally crippled I am at this hopefully temporary moment of time.

If chefs aren't allowed to have a bad day in the kitchen, then why are they allowed to have a bad day in their lives? 

I'm just asking.